The door popped open with a sigh. ‘Parbleu, the bullet is still inside you,’ Melusine guessed, remembering how the Mother Abbess had diagnosed Leonardo’s suffering when he had first come to the convent. The doorbell tinkled and Michelle grabbed her purse and rushed down the creaky wooden stairs. “John,” she declared, “I must eat or die. The struggles of the wounded man were desperate—so desperate, that in his agony he overset the table, and, in the confusion, tore off the cloth, and disclosed a face horribly mutilated, and streaming with blood. The stipendiary would have done it all very differently.
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